“There! Still in its original folds. I met no one coming or going.” Dirzan stared at Piemur, his scowl deepening. “You’re being insolent again.” He raised his hand.

Piemur stepped back deliberately, catching sight of the other apprentices watching the scene with great interest. The especially eager glint in Clell’s eyes confirmed Piemur’s suspicion.

“No, I’m trying to prove to you that I’m no babble-mouth, even if I did understand that message. Lord Meron of Nabol is ill and requires Master Oldive urgently. But who’d care if he died after what he’s done to Pern?”

Piemur knew he’d merited Dirzan’s blow then and didn’t duck.

“You’ll learn to keep a civil tongue in your head, Piemur, or it’s back to the runner hold for you.”

“I’ve a right to defend my honor! And I can!” Piemur caught himself just in time before he blurted out that Master Robinton could attest to his discretion. As rife with rumor as the Harper Hall generally was, there hadn’t been a whisper about the Oldtimers’ raid on the mine.

“How?” Dirzan’s single derisive word told Piemur forcibly how very difficult that would be without being rightfully accused of indiscretion.

“I’ll figure a way. You’ll see!” Piemur glared impotently at the delighted grins of the other apprentices.

That night, when everyone else slept through the dead hours, Piemur lay awake, restless with agitation. The more he examined his problem, the harder it was to solve it without being indiscreet on some count or another. When he’d still been free to chatter with his friends, he could have asked the help of Brolly, Bonz, Timiny or Ranly. Among them, they’d surely have been able to discover a solution. If he approached Menolly or Sebell about such a piffling problem, they might decide he wasn’t the right lad for their needs. They might even consider his complaint a lack of discretion in itself.

How right Master Robinton had been when he said that Piemur might possibly be plagued into disclosing matters best left unmentioned! Only how could the Harper have known that Piemur was stuck in the one discipline, as a drum apprentice, where he was most likely to be accused of indiscretions?

One possibility presented itself to his questioning mind: the apprentices, even Clell as the oldest, were still plodding through the medium hard drum measures. Therefore some parts of every long message reaching the Harper Hall were incomprehensible to them. Now, if Piemur learned drum language beat perfect, he’d understand the messages in full. Not that he’d let Dirzan know that when he wrote the message down for him. But he’d keep a private record of everything he translated. Then, the next time there was a rumor of a half-understood message, Piemur would prove; to Dirzan that he had known all the message, not just the parts the other apprentices had understood.

To further achieve his end, Piemur kept to the drum-heights even at mealtimes. Preferably within the sight of Dirzan, the Master, or one of the other duty journeymen. If he wasn’t near others, he couldn’t be accused of gossiping to them. Even when he was sent on message-runs, he made the return trip so fast no one could possibly accuse him of dawdling and gossiping on the way. The only other time he was in the court was to help Menolly feed the fire lizards. Messages came through, some of them urgent, some tempting enough, Piemur would have thought, for one of the apprentices to repeat, but no whisper of rumor repaid his immolation. In despair he gave up his plan and tore up the messages he had written. But he still held himself away from others.

He wasn’t certain how much more of this he could endure when Menolly appeared in the drumheights just after breakfast one morning.

“I need a messenger today,” she said to Dirzan.

“Clell would—”

“No. I want Piemur.”

“Now, Menolly, I wouldn’t mind letting him go for a minor errand but—”

“Piemur is Master Robinton’s choice,” she said with a shrug, “and he’s cleared this with Master Olodkey. Piemur, get your gear together.”

Piemur blandly ignored the black looks Clell directed his way as he crossed the living room. “Menolly, I think you ought to mention to Master Robinton that we haven’t found Piemur too reliable—”

“Piemur? Unreliable?”

Piemur had been about to whip around and defy Dirzan, but the amused condescension in Menolly’s tone was a far better defense than any he could muster under his circumstances. In one mild question, Menolly had given Dirzan, not to mention Clell and the others, a lot to think about.

“Oh, he’s been bleating to you, has he?” Piemur could hear the sneer in the journeyman’s voice. He took a deep breath and continued to gather his things.

“In point of fact,” and now Menolly sounded puzzled, “he’s not been talkative at all, apart from commenting on the weather and the condition of my fire lizards. Should he have reason to bleat, Dirzan?”

Piemur half-ran back into the room, to forestall any explanation by the journeyman. This opportunity was playing beautifully into his hands.

“I’m ready to go, Menolly.”

“Yes, and we have to move fast.” It was obvious to Piemur that Menolly had wanted to hear Dirzan’s reply. “I’ll be back to you on this, Dirzan. C’mon, Piemur!”

She led the way down the steps at a clatter, and only when they had passed the first landing did she turn to him.

“What have you been up to, Piemur?”

“I haven’t been up to anything,” he replied with such vehemence that Menolly grinned at him. “That’s the trouble.”

“Your reputation’s caught up with you?”

“More than that. It’s being used against me.” As much as Piemur wanted to expand, the less he said, he decided, even to Menolly, the stronger his position.

“The other apprentices against you? Yes, I saw their expressions. What did you do to set them so?”

“Learned drum measures too fast is all I can think of.”

“You sure?”

“I’m bloody sure, Menolly. D’you think I’d do anything to get in the Masterharper’s bad record?”

“No,” she said thoughtfully as they skipped down the last flight. “No, you wouldn’t. Look, we’ll sort it out when we come back. There’s a Gather today at Igen Hold. Sebell and I are to be there as harpers, but Master Robinton wants you to play scruffy boy apprentice.”

“Can I ask why?” Piemur delivered the question on the end of a long suffering sigh.

Menolly laughed and reached out to ruffle his hair.

“You can, but I’ve no answer. We weren’t told either. He just wants you to wander about the Gather and listen.”

“Has he got Oldtimers on his mind?” Piemur asked as casually as he could.

“I’d say he probably does,” Menolly answered after a thoughtful moment. “He’s been worried. I may be his journeywoman, but I don’t always know what’s on his mind. Neither does Sebell!”

They had reached the archway now and turned toward the Gather meadow. “I’m to ride a dragon?” asked Piemur. He lurched to a stop, his eyes bulging out at the scene before him. Bronze Lioth was shaking his wings out in the sun, his great jeweled eyes gleaming blue-green as he turned his head to watch the antics of the fire lizards. Dwarfed by his bulk, the tall figures of N’ton, Fort Weyrleader, and Sebell stood by his shoulder.

“C’mon, Piemur. We mustn’t keep them waiting. The Gather at Igen is already well started.”

Piemur struggled into his wherhide jacket, making that an excuse for falling behind Menolly. Actually he was both terrified and overjoyed at the prospect of riding a dragon! All those cloddies up there in the drumheights! He hoped that they were watching, that they’d see him riding off on a dragon! That’d teach them to smear his reputation. He pushed from his mind the corollary that the privilege of flying a dragonback would make his lot with his fellow apprentices that much harder. What mattered was the now! Piemur was going to ride a dragon.